My Collection of South Park One—Shots
by The Pregnant Chad
Summary: Whoo-hoo!


My Collection of South Park One-Shots

**No. 1:** Chardin's Magic

**Summary:** A bubble. That's what Kenny was.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own South Park, dudes; Trey 'n Matt do. I also don't own the song "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles" by John Kellette and Jaan Kenbrovin. Ray Bradbury owns Fahrenheit 451, the Gorillaz own their song "Feel Good, Inc.", Bubble-Buddy belongs to Spongebob, and I have no idea who first wrote "Pop Goes the Weasel," so there.

Because the world needs more of this pairing! And because the idea came to me in the shower. I was inspired by Lance Ruhiru's "The House I Grew Up In" to write something beautiful because that story's gorgeous, and if you like this one, then you'll fall in love with that one. Now, go get your hot librarian glasses and read.

**Note: I did not steal this story to those who've seen it before. This is my new account.**

* * *

I ' m d r e a m i n g d r e a m s , I ' m s c h e m i n g s c h e m e s , I ' m b u i l d i n g c a s t l e s h i g h . . .

* * *

We met in grade school, I know that much. He'd always be the one, as usual, to have the sexual maturity of a newly-turned twenty-one-year-old, even though he was only a little over eight. If given the chance now, he'd get a job as Sex Ed teacher, keep it for the rest of his life, and only inform us on the pros, leaving us to our doom while we blissfully collect STDs.

That thought… kind of makes me smile…

Anyway, I didn't learn his name until after he… died… for the first time in front of my eyes, sometime in the beginning of fourth grade. I remember feeling sad for him. And I remember staring at the blood in the snow from the classroom window until it disappeared.

I heard something along the lines of, "Oh my god, they killed Kenny," and a, "You bastard," short after. Obviously, he'd been named 'Kenny,' and I wrote the name down on my palm with a marker just in case I'd forget; I'd preserved it with my old, wool gloves until I got home, which was when I wrote it down in the back of _Fahrenheit 451_, my favorite book. I didn't know what to do with this new information, but I knew I had to ask about him sometime. I reluctantly washed my hands before dinnertime that night.

The next day, I went up to Mr. Garrison early in the morning, before anyone else even showed up. I asked him who Kenny was, and he told me, "Kenny? That poor McCormick boy?" I nodded. "How should I know?" He glared at me, and it felt like a mistake just being there. Finishing with, "He always kept his stupid hood up," he turned back to doodling oversized naked guys with a ballpoint.

I was shocked out of my mind when I saw him appear in class two days later. He appeared to be cool and calm, _happy_ even, while talking to his friend, Stan. I went up to him at recess, my bravery seeming to come straight from my ass. My eyebrow rose, all on its own, and I asked him, "Didn't you die the other day?"

He raised his head, as if about to reply, and my heart sped up with curiosity and excitement. But his other friend, Kyle, cut in, responding for him. "Dude, he gets killed all the time! He's never really died, though. Don't worry about it." He wrapped his arm around Kenny's shoulders and led him away.

Kenny looked back at me with curiosity and I stared at him, confused as he was. I didn't talk to anyone else that recess. I just sat and thought.

* * *

. . . t h e y ' r e b o r n a n e w , t h e i r d a y s a r e f e w , j u s t l i k e a s w e e t b u t t e r f l y . . .

* * *

We hardly ever talked after that. Sometimes, I thought he was some unsolvable mystery. Other days, I'd think of it as a bunch of BS and tell myself that he's just a perverted kid. Either way, I wasn't satisfied, which explains our lack of contact then.

Eventually, I was in the eighth grade. It was years later, and I thought that I had Kenny all figured out. I didn't want to waste my life wondering about him constantly anymore, so I went to my bookshelf, picked out _Fahrenheit 451_, and went to my desk to erase his name.

I blame fate for turning my head in the right direction.

I didn't want to, but I noticed a small, blue bottle of bubble soap sitting next to the eraser. I picked it up and remembered that it was from my uncle, when I was very young. I also remembered getting sick from downing about a third of it back then. I left the book without erasing Kenny's name to play with the stuff.

It was actually fun, to tell you the truth. Wet the bubble wand, blow through it, stare at the bubbles, then grab one and pop it, or catch it with the end of the wand. Watching their oily colors bend and twist in midair made me content, until a face popped up right inside of the biggest one. I almost yelled out at the huge grin, enlarged eyes, and dirty-blond hair. I didn't recognize the face, but I knew that the eyes were familiar. I stared wide-eyed at them, and he just let me.

After a long moment, the bubble finally popped, and his smile slowly vanished. I blinked and asked who he was, but all he did was grin again and ask, "Since when did you play with bubbles, Craigy?"

* * *

. . . a n d a s t h e d a y l i g h t i s d a w n i n g , t h e y c o m e a g a i n i n t h e m o r n i n g . . .

* * *

I'd wonder who this was for another year, until Kenny took off his hood one day in the middle of class. Kyle had been shivering all throughout class with a killer cold, but probably didn't want his mother to know about it. Why he did that, I'll never know for sure, but he was cursing through his sneezes at everyone but Stan. Kenny, from what I can tell beneath his hood, smirked, before slipping off his hood and then the rest of his jacket. I saw the face from so long ago smile as he draped his coat over his friend like a blanket. Before Kyle could even look back, though, Kenny was already on his way to his seat, back turned.

His face seemed raw, somehow. It wasn't lighter than the rest of his skin and nothing seemed to have changed from the day I first saw it, but it was still different. He'd been covering it up for so long; it was a wonder when it'd seen any fresh air.

The first thing I noticed was his lips. I know; it's already getting gayer. But I couldn't help it; they were too girly. Too peachy, too arrogant, the way they puckered in thought like that. Next, the hair. I was aware that others were staring at it, what with their 'never seen it before,' and, 'I'm so damn curious.' It was messy, blond, plain. Nice, actually. Not tangled, just ruffled. I imagined a faceless father figure messing up Kenny's hair in pride. The last things I took in were his eyes. He had them lowered, but I knew for certain that they were blue. I saw them a year ago in the bubble.

This day was also the first time we officially talked.

A lot of us had snuck off during lunchtime, back to the elementary school for our Secret Annual Tetherball Games. I remember myself doing a good job at showing off, gaining attention and all that, until Clyde got hit in the face and girls swarmed him. A majority of them had these stupid gem-covered shoes that kept shining in my eyes and made me miss the ball once during their rush.

In my frustration, I hit the ball once too hard. I saw a glimpse of Kyle's surprised face and another of Stan grabbing a hold of him from behind. I looked again; he'd just pulled Kyle out of the range of my shot. It could've been my imagination, but I saw that Kyle's face was red. Kenny's muffled laughter wasn't making it any lighter, either.

I took off my hat and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I saw Kenny smiling at me. I wiped them again.

After a few more rounds, I took a break. I sat under a nearby evergreen, and eventually, Kenny must've gotten bored, because he joined me. I just looked at him, and I recall wishing he'd take off his hood "like the rest of us." I must've said it out loud because he just turned to me and said it was too cold for that.

"But what about Kyle? Isn't he sick, or something?"

Kenny nodded. "He insisted, though."

I had a sudden sense of déjà vu when I offered my hat to him. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Instead, he took my hand and held it in his, firmly. His eyes turned back to the people playing. What irked me the most was how heavy the sense still was.

"Ke-"

"Do you remember?"

"…remember what?"

He lifted our hands. "This."

"Sort of…" I strained.

He started fiddling with my hand then, bending the thumb far back and twisting the fingers together. "You know, down in Pioneer Village?"

It was _then_ I remembered. We'd held hands throughout the trip, until some idiot with a gun had threatened to kill him. I'd thought he'd only chosen me to get away from Cartman, so I didn't hold on too tightly. His gloved hands had been as cold as they felt at this moment.

"Oh, right," I nodded, "you okay?" I asked, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

He looked at me dumbly. "Okay with what?"

"With me… I mean, the guy-"

"Don't worry," he assured me, "I'm killed all the time. I could have a second family in hell for all you know."

My mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smirk. It wasn't really an expression at all, actually. I remember the intent look he held on me, and I remember the blank stare I held on him. Finally, he casually slipped off his hood to reveal a smirk; he then took my hat, fitted it over his hair, and walked off to join the rest. The whole time, it was like I was in shock, because I'd never seen it coming.

That night, Kenny was randomly shot in the chest. A day passed before he showed up at school again, wearing my hat, wearing his smirk.

* * *

. . . I ' m f o r e v e r b l o w i n g b u b b l e s , p r e t t y b u b b l e s i n t h e a i r . . .

* * *

The second time we talked, it was more casual. Perverted even, but when you're Kenny's friend, you grow up fast. We had a project together, ironically, involving life in the 1860's.

"It's fate," I recall saying. "She's screwing with our brains."

"Or screwing _out_ our brains," he retorted, grinning. "Whichever you prefer."

We stopped at my house and went up to my room, where we lazily plopped down our stuff. We ditched the first two hours for video games, worked for close to half an hour, and spent the rest of the day just talking and hanging out, like friends. I know we're friends now, but back then, I wasn't so sure, which convinced me to keep talking to him until we were. He still had my hat (and the smirk), and I thought he'd never return it until he finally took it off, grinning, after our mini burping contest.

"Everyone's great," he told me. "Wendy's being pretty pissy, though."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Something about Stan ditching her for the past few weekends 'cuz of Kyle's cold."

I smirked. "How sweet."

"Obvious, too, huh?" He smiled.

We laughed together after that. Thank god for Stan and Kyle being so obvious so that I could finally hear what his laugh sounded like without the hood covering it up. It was one of those laughs that you wouldn't get tired of, that you would grow old with. I remember thinking how lucky his girlfriend must've been; I almost kicked myself at the thought.

I walked over to my desk and noticed the bottle of bubble soap next to our project. Before I could even comprehend it, Kenny snatched it up and said, "Oh yeah, you like this stuff, right?"

"It was a gift," I managed.

"_Ri-i-ight,_" he replied disbelievingly. "Can we play with it?"

I nodded, smiling, and led him to the front of the house.

At first, I didn't understand his method of blowing bubbles at all. He'd only blow one at a time, staring at his blurring reflection, and would let it pop on its own. If he accidentally blew two, he'd blow it over to me, where I'd pop it for him and he'd smile approvingly.

After an hour, I caught the code: one bubble at a time, one reflection at a time, one _Kenny_ at a time.

A bubble. That's what Kenny was.

So I made a bold move. I silently asked for the soap and the bubble wand. He looked unsure, but I took them anyway. I then wet the end of the wand as much as I could and blew upwards at a moderate pace.

Bubbles straight toward the sky, bubbles heavenward. I tried catching up with all the Kenny's through bubbles, but soon stopped when one drifted away from the rest, towards me, and lingered in front of my eyes. I could almost imagine Kenny's reflection rather than mine, but wasn't able to, for the bubble had popped too soon.

I asked if Kenny wanted to stay over. He whispered an, "Okay."

* * *

. . . t h e y f l y s o h i g h , n e a r l y r e a c h t h e s k y . . .

* * *

We watched some of my dumb, old movies. Kenny wouldn't stop laughing at the one with Stan's dog running around a gazebo, potato chip taped to his nose. We even watched a copy of Cartman's tea party that I'd gotten from Stan as a last-minute birthday present. It was Thursday, and we'd decided to ditch school the next day so that we wouldn't have to wait for the weekend.

I dressed in my old, blue pajama pants (the ones that had cartoon moose all over them) and a light, yellow shirt. I decided to sleep on the couch in the living room, seeing as Kenny had already stolen my bed by the time I finished showering. I flipped through channels and eventually just popped a CD into the stereo. I'd hardly reached the guitar solo from _Feel Good, Inc._ when Kenny came.

"Thanks for the bed, but I can sleep here."

"Nu-uh," I said back, not the least bit sleepy. "My song's not over."

I looked to him after a minute of our silence, 2D's 'feel good's filling the room. His jacket had been unzipped all the way, revealing his plain, white tank top. His hood was draped over him in a nun-like fashion and he loosely held a pillow to his chest. He sighed and smiled, walking past me to turn off the lights. Now, only the bulb over the staircase was on, and I could hardly make out his face.

"Fine, but go back when the song's done. We need sleep, dummy." He abandoned his pillow near my feet and folded his arms into a smaller substitute. He sat on the carpet and rested his head on the edge of the sofa, half a foot from my face, and I think his eyes had closed soon after, but it was too dark to be sure.

The CD had rolled by five times before we both fell asleep like that.

* * *

. . . t h e n l i k e m y d r e a m s , t h e y f a d e a n d d i e . . .

* * *

I dreamt of us that night. All of us. Me, Kenny, Kyle, Stan, Butters, Wendy, Clyde, Token, Bebe, Jimmy, Pip, Tweek, even _Cartman_. Kenny was trapped in an oversized bubble, but he didn't seem to mind. Stan and Kyle tried pinching and hitting the bubble, but to no avail. Cartman was rolling his eyes at their attempts and everyone else ignored them.

A young, blond-haired girl with a ponytail went up to the bubble, touched it, and waited. Kenny smiled and placed his hand upon her imprint, not pulling away until she did. She wiped her eyes of tears and attempted smiling back at him, but a call interrupted her.

"Kelly," said a voice from nowhere, "it's time to go now." She lowered her head and eventually pressed her lips to the bubble in a quick kiss. Then, she ran to a grassy area and climbed into a moving van, the part where the furniture was stored. A man came and sealed up the back before hopping in the front and driving off.

I stood there and watched as Kenny watched. Stan and Kyle had given up, and Stan was now holding Kyle in a comforting way, rubbing his back. Kyle was crying. I didn't know why.

Cartman sat, as did Kenny, and they appeared to be talking, though I couldn't hear a word of their conversation. Then, Cartman got up, waved bye to Kenny (Kenny waved back), and walked away. Stan and Kyle had vanished.

Slowly, one by one, the rest did as well, until it was only the two of us. He waved at me, his usual smile in place. I waved back and started towards him, moving for the first time in this dream, but two invisible hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me away.

A screech of "Move, Craig!" sounded. Kenny's bubble popped violently, like a balloon. Kenny was nowhere in sight after that. Everyone instantly reappeared.

I preferred how it was before, though…

And I woke up.

"Craig?"

I woke up instantly to Kenny's voice. My mouth formed a sentence, but I couldn't comprehend it at all. Kenny just looked at me, a funny expression on his face, before shaking his head.

"No, I'm not dead yet. I was just sleeping, dumb-ass!" He was smiling again.

I nodded. "Oh." I got up and asked if he wanted anything for breakfast.

"Duh," he said. "Hey, what was your nightmare about?"

"Nightmare?"

"You were tossing and turning. I'm sensing a nightmare!"

I readied the toaster and put in some bread. "Ergh… bubbles…"

He walked over to me. "It was about bubbles?" I nodded, not feeling like lying. "Was it about me?" He grinned.

"Oh, how'd you guess?"

"I'd be more flattered if you dreamt of me, though. No, you have to have a goddamn _nightmare_ about me, instead." I chuckled. "So, did I turn into a huge glob monster and eat you? Or did I strangle you with silly-string?" I just shook my head and grinned, staring at the toaster. After a quiet moment, Kenny spoke up. "Dude?"

"What?"

"You wanna go to Stark's Pond after this? That is, if your parents don't bitch about it later."

"No," I replied, as the toaster dinged and the bread popped up, "they left me for Canada."

"Oh… for how long?"

"'bout three more months. I've been home alone for two so far, you know."

"Did they say why?"

I shook my head. "They just left a note saying that they'd be back in November."

"Damn, that's kind of creepy. So? Yes or no?" He slipped on my hat, as if it was his own, and I smirked.

I threw a piece of jellied toast at him, which he caught. "Sure."

I still kind of regret that trip. Why he wanted to go, I don't know, but he never made it. A car came, flush out of nowhere, and hit him in the gut, pinning him into the wall of a supermarket. I remember sitting there, watching his stunned bloodied face, before getting up and walking home, head hung with disappointment.

* * *

. . . f o r t u n e ' s a l w a y s h i d i n g , I ' v e l o o k e d e v e r y w h e r e . . .

* * *

The next day, I slept in. I didn't dream, though; I didn't even have nightmares. I was just dead.

Cartman called and asked for Kenny, so I told him what happened.

"Are you _sure_ you didn't kill 'im?" he asked.

"Shut up, Cartman."

"Oka-a-ay. Tell me when 'e comes back!" And he hung up.

I began to wonder how confident people could be in Kenny's return. I know he always comes back, but what if he decided to say, "Screw this," and we never saw him again? Thoughts bombarded my brain, so I went to take a four-hour nap.

When I woke up, a note hung over my family's temporary-goodbye note on the front door. I ran up to it. "What the hell…"

_Craigy,_

_Bring your bubble soap to Stark's Pond later, kay? And tell Cartman that I already know._

– _Your Favorite Little Bubble-Buddy_

I rushed out of my house in my pajamas, forgetting the cold. I even forgot the soap for a minute, but I turned back to get it. It was then that I noticed I was almost out. I made a mental note to go get some more sometime.

I felt the snow through a hole in my shoe leak in as I ran. I only slowed when my destination came into view.

Kenny was there, looking as uninjured as always. He took a hand out of his pockets and waved at me as I sat down next to him. "Sorry about leaving yesterday," he began, "but, these things happen, y'know? Forgive me?" I nodded. "Good." A grin graced his girly lips.

"So what do you already know?" I asked, curious.

"Hm?"

"Cartman wanted to tell you something, but you said that you already knew. What'd you know?"

He started giggling. "Stan," he raised a finger, "and Kyle," he raised another from his opposite hand, "are together _forever_." He placed the fingers side-by-side.

I rolled my eyes. "Is that all?" He shook his head and looked down, as if comprehending something; his eyebrows were even pressing the skin between them. "What, then?"

We sat in silence before he bounced back. "Do you think they'll forget me?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, Kenny. I just don't know."

He laughed. "Of course not." He cleared his throat. "You know, if they do, we could form a whole new group. You could be Stan, 'cuz you look like him, and I could be Kyle, except not Jewish, and—"

"Hey, I don't wanna be Stan!"

Kenny pouted, making him appear even more like a girl. "But Stan was third on The List!"

"…true. Then who'll be Cartman?"

"Cartman."

I laughed. "Right." I fiddled with my hat on his head, and he grinned. "So, why are we here?"

"Oh, right! Ahem," I smirked and wrinkled my nose, amused. "_Half a pound of tuppenny rice_," he sang, reaching into his pocket. "_Half a pound of treacle_."

He pulled out a small, velvet, blood-stained box that would fit an engagement ring perfectly; I almost had a stroke as he continued. 'What the fu—'

"_That's the way the monkey goes… pop!_" He opened the box. "_Goes the weasel!_"

I peered inside and took out a small circle. It was plastic and orange, with ridges covering the inside and a stub where Kenny had cut off the stick. It was a bubble wand.

"So…" I began as I fiddled with the 'ring.' "What's this mean?"

"Um… happy Valentine's Day?"

"It's not Valentine's Day," I informed.

"Too bad, or this would be a hell of a lot more romantic," he said, before leaning over and kissing my lips.

His kiss was soft and sweet, not a bit sad. He fiddled with my hands and I could feel his smile. It'd only been a few seconds before we separated, and he revealed the makeshift ring on my hand.

"Yeah, I do love you," he said, fiddling with my hand again. "Get used to it."

I smirked.

"Sure."

* * *

. . . I ' m f o r e v e r b l o w i n g b u b b l e s , p r e t t y b u b b l e s i n t h e a i r .

* * *

_Tell me what you think, okay? And please, if you're going to bash it, bash the story, not the couple. Thanks for reading! And I'm not ashamed to say that I'd love fan-art._


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